Wild Men Learn Too Late
by Whimsy and Ink
Summary: Hermione escapes to the Astronomy Tower following Slughorn's Christmas Party during 6th year. A drunk Cormac finds her and attempts to push things too far, but a dubious hero comes to her rescue. He's silent, he sneers, and he quotes Muggle poetry. He is not what he seems.


**Author's Note:** This is my first fanfic in over a decade (*eye roll* ...you can pick it back up in your early thirties, right?!), and my very first Dramione fic. The pairing is just so damn sexy. I'd love to hear your feedback! This started as a one-shot, but I may continue it if it gets enough interest.

If you like it, subscribe for alerts - I will shortly be posting a longer story I'm working on featuring our favorite couple on a lonely beach on the Scottish coast. It's loosely inspired by the Edgar Allen Poe poem, _Annabel Lee_. 

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It was the perfect night for stargazing. The December sky was cloudless and ebony black, a velvet tray on which a celestial jeweler had emptied his collection of precious stones. The icy air pressed in around Hermione as she slowly ambled along the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, tightening her heavy velvet dress cloak around her. The night was a suspended breath, still and crisp, expectant. Ambient moonlight illuminated the clear view with a strangely silver-white glow.

She made her way to the railing and leaned over, gazing down. It was a very long way down, and as she pulled herself up to tip further over the edge, the height made her dizzy. She had always been afraid of heights. It wasn't the distance, but rather the helplessness and lack of control they represented. She imagined her hands slipping from their place on the slick rail, her weight pitching forward as she tumbled over the edge and fell. It was indeed a long way down. She shivered but didn't pull back immediately, relishing the delicious thrill that went through her at the danger.

Her behavior was more suited to a certain ginger firecracker than Hermione Granger. She would normally be the one gasping and pulling a laughing Ginny Weasley back from a prank like this, but tonight was different. Tonight she was free and filled with moonlight. At least, she was now.

For the majority of the evening, she had been forced to make diplomatic small talk with near strangers while avoiding McLaggen and his wandering hands and gaze. She had smiled politely, nibbled the overcooked potato cakes, and shrewdly kept one eye peeled for her ridiculous date at all times. To her disappointment, she had barely gotten two words in with Harry before he'd up and disappeared.

Propping herself against the rail on her forearms, she glanced down at herself. The satiny, retro-red cocktail dress and four inch black velvet stilettos had been wasted on such a cad.

She was exhausted, and she needed 30 minutes of peace and solitude before heading back to the common room where she'd most certainly be forced to watch Ronald and his new girlfriend suck on each other's faces. At the thought, her stomach stirred with anger. She'd managed to avoid thinking at length about him for almost a month, but she paused now to let her anger deepen. The way he had blown her off so quickly and so thoroughly for that empty-headed blonde still both hurt and frustrated her. Really, was he so self-absorbed he didn't notice true affection right under his nose? So insecure he required all that flashy exhibition to feel special?

Hermione smiled wryly to herself at the notion of flashy exhibition. She'd had her very own curly-haired blonde in pursuit tonight. Cormac was perfect English charm and humor, but subtle he certainly was not. The grand gesture - that was one thing she knew she'd never want in a man. It wreaked of showmanship.

There was something about shared silence and unspoken tension that fired every nerve in her body. She pursed her lips in thought as she stared out at the Great Lake. In hindsight, that may have been what drew her to Viktor during fourth year.

She rolled her eyes and pushed herself back from the rail. In that case the unspoken tension was less chemistry and more the awkwardness of complete opposites. That ship had sailed. Literally. And good riddance.

Hermione took a few steps backward on the tall, thin heels, tipping her head to the sky and lifting her long, heavy curls off the back of her neck. She wouldn't think about Ron or Cormac or Viktor, not now. She turned in a slow circle, holding her caramel curls in a pile on top of her head with both hands. On such a still, clear winter night, she thought it may be possible to not think of them ever again.

The frozen air seemed to slow her relentlessly churning mind, and she lost herself briefly in the endless starry sky. The weight of the night pressed down all around her in its vastness. The hot, roiling anger in her stomach cooled into something warm and pleasant, and a small quiver went through her. She loved it up here - the Scottish hills rolling off in all directions. The Great Lake, as still and glassy as a mirror. A sky that could swallow her whole. A quiet sigh breathed from her lips.

In the next moment, her peace was shattered. From behind and below her, she heard the heavy wooden door at the foot of the spiral staircase slam open with a bang. Someone stumbled up the stairs.

"Her- _my_ -one, _there_ you are, sweetheart! I thought I'd lost you," a familiar and very unwelcome voice slurred behind her. She scowled.

"McLaggen," she said flatly, turning around. He swaggered toward her, a self-confident grin tweaking one side of his classically handsome face.

He struck a pose - actually struck a pose, one hip jutted out and his right hand casually tucked into fitted dress slacks. "Now Hermione, you've been playing hard to get all night, but I found you fair and square. What do I win for my trouble?"

"Oh my, why yes you did, didn't you?" she asked, widening her eyes innocently and ignoring his question.

He smiled like the cat who'd caught the canary and took a step forward. Smoothly, she stepped backward in time with him and continued. "Now it's your turn, I suppose. I'll give you a head start - go on!"

McLaggen jerked his head, confused for a moment. He turned and glanced at the staircase. "My turn, you say?"

"Mhmm," she purred, raising her hands to cover her eyes. She spread her fingers to peak through uncharacteristic, ruby red fingernails. The Christmas manicure had been Ginny's idea. "I love it when a man makes me give a little chase. It just drives me barmy. But don't make it too easy, Cormac. I've been dying for my chance all night!" McLaggen turned and made an uncertain move toward the stairs, swerving slightly.

Hermione lowered her hands and laughed quietly to herself. He had persistence, she'd give him that, but she could outwit anyone. She began to turn back toward the railing when she felt two warm, sweaty hands grip her shoulders. She shuddered and shrugged him off quickly.

When she turned around, he was far too close. She didn't know how he'd managed to move that quickly. She backed up a step. "Cormac, what are you doing?" she giggled falsely. "This takes all the fun out of it."

He leered at her, and she realized his breath absolutely reeked of firewhiskey. Where had he gotten so much alcohol tonight? Slughorn hadn't been serving any - surely not.

"Firewhiskey." She must have pulled a face because he misinterpreted her look as some sort of jealous pout and reached for the inner pocket of his robe, extracting a flask.

"Oi, thirsty are you? Here, I think there's some left." He shoved it at her.

She pushed his hand away. "No thanks."

He shrugged and unscrewed the top, tipping it back himself. Frowning, he held it upside down, but nothing came out. "Guess I'm fresh out."

She rolled her eyes. "I never would have guessed." Then Hermione shook her head impatiently, which got his attention. Her tone was brisk. "Alright, Cormac, you've had enough. Let's get back and get some food in you. You need to sober up or you'll lose us major points. It's Malfoy's patrol tonight." She tried to push past him, but he blocked her.

"Party's over, love. Thought you realized that when you snuck off up here. Just you and me now." He leaned forward and tried to cup her hip with one hand, but she swatted it away. Backing up another step, she felt the railing at her back. Her heart started to race.

McLaggen pressed in again, and this time, he placed both his hands on her waist. He leaned down to smell her hair. She shuddered and gagged at his breath.

"Cormac, come off it, I'm completely knackered. Let's go back," she attempted to persuade him unsuccessfully, pulling at his hands. He tightened them painfully.

"Won't take me long to wake you up, sweetheart," he muttered in her ear. Before she realized it, he was slobbering into her neck.

"Get off of me!" she nearly shouted. She shoved him as hard as she could, and he stumbled backward, nearly falling. She moved swiftly toward the stairs, but he was faster. He grabbed her by her robe and spun her back toward him, yanking hard on her arms as he wrestled them to her sides. She cringed as she heard her nice dress robes tear at one of the seams.

He backed her bodily against the railing again. "Oh, but you said so yourself, I won fair and square. I think I deserve my prize." He grunted as he pinned her wrists behind her with one hand. With the other, he roughly stroked down her side and gripped her petite thigh through her skirt as he pressed himself against her.

She struggled forcefully, beginning to panic. This couldn't be happening. Cormac was lecherous and arrogant, but he wasn't dangerous, was he? Surely he wouldn't force himself on her! Tears sprang to her eyes as she felt his fingers skim the bottom hem of her dress.

He seemed to think she was either still playing hard to get or a feisty participant. He lowered his lips to her neck again, moving his mouth up wetly and practically sticking his tongue in her ear. She cringed again and twisted her head away. He saw that as an invitation and lowered his mouth to hers in a sloppy kiss.

She writhed more frantically against him, but he issued a low growl and kissed her again, biting her lower lip to gain entrance.

She was beginning to be paralyzed with fear. What could she do? She was smart, fierce, and sober, but he was stronger and taller. If she could only get to her wand in the pocket of her robes - but her hands were still pinned...

" _Relashio_!" A hard voice filled with ice and fury cut through the night, and in an instant, Cormac's grip on her released and they were blasted apart. She slammed sharply into the railing and crumbled to the ground, while he stumbled backward and fell on his bum with a thud.

As Hermione coughed and shook her head to clear away the jinx, a blur of robes and a flash of silver-blonde hair flew at Cormac. The attacker yanked him up by the shoulders and shoved him hard.

"What the hell are you doing, McLaggen?" The voice was chipped ice but very familiar. She peered across the balcony, but the new figure had shoved McLaggen stumbling back into the shadows. "Were you going to force yourself on her? You're wizard filth, McLaggen, and a disgrace to the Sacred 28. Swaggering about like you're entitled to whatever you want. Why, because you have money and a family name? You don't know the first thing about being a gentleman." Each sentence was punctured with small blasts from his wand, prompting unintelligible groans and pleas from McLaggen

As her rescuer kept talking, it dawned on Hermione who he was. Her eyes widened in horror. It wasn't possible. There was no way he'd known who he was saving. She blinked a few more times to clear her head, then pushed herself up, scrambling for her wand. She had to leave before he realized his mistake and hexed her over the edge - or worse - left her to McLaggen.

As she moved toward the exit rapidly, she saw him pull back his arm and swiftly punch Cormac in the face. He groaned and crumpled like a rag doll. She froze, her mouth gaping slightly.

Draco Malfoy had just defended her honor.

Breathing heavily, he stilled, his back to her. He seemed to be trying to calm down. As his breathing regulated, he slowly turned. If he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it. She felt more than saw his eyes take in her rumpled appearance and smudged make up in a glance. He moved toward her silently.

She stood in a half moon golden glow cast from a solitary lantern that lit the entrance to the balcony. The warm lamplight caught the varying shades of coffee and hazel in her disheveled curls. The tears had dried in frozen tracks on her cheeks. As he moved out of the shadows and into the circle of light, she felt herself began to tremble and realized with horror she couldn't stop. She had never felt more exposed or vulnerable.

His hard eyes continued to assess her as he stopped at least three feet away. He noticed the small rip in her shoulder seam and took a final step forward, reaching out as he did so. His eyes didn't leave her robes, and his fingers ever so slowly grazed the ragged edge of the fabric.

" _Reparo_." The word was spoken quietly but seemed to reverberate between them. His voice was hollow, empty of all his previous ire. Her eyes didn't leave his face as a small jolt of magic left his fingers wandlessly and mended the seam quickly.

He looked her up and down critically, noticing that her left knee was scratched and bleeding from where she'd fallen after he blasted them apart. He pursed his lips. Rather than squatting and touching the wound, he extracted his wand from his robe and pointed it at her leg. " _Tergeo_." The blood was magically wiped away and its flow halted.

She was still shaking when his gaze snapped back to her face. Taking in her confusion and shock, he dropped his wand arm abruptly.

"Granger," he acknowledged tonelessly, grey eyes not leaving hers.

"Malfoy - I..." she started, trailing off. She didn't understand what had just happened. Draco Malfoy, the self-serving pureblood who believed her blood was contaminated and made her worthless had just stopped her attacker. No, not just stopped him - had practically annihilated him in his fury. And then he had mended her robes with a touch and healed her. And had he said something about what it meant to be a gentleman?

He simply studied her patiently, waiting for her to continue. His eyes captured and reflected the moonlight, moving with a dozen shades of silver, like lake water or quicksilver. She couldn't look away.

She tried again. "Malfoy, I don't understand what just happened... but thank you. I was so scared, and I couldn't reach my wand... just - thank you."

His eyes flickered imperceptibly with something as he continued to hold her gaze for a moment longer. He finally dropped his eyes to the sleeve of his robe and adjusted the cuffs. When he looked up, he'd half turned to stare out over the balcony. "McLaggen is a skirt-chasing tosser and a sorry excuse for a wizard. He deserves worse." His eyes cut over to Cormac's unconscious frame with a sneer. Then he moved soundlessly to the railing. "Worthless pricks like him believe their family name entitles them to whatever they want."

Hermione paused for a moment before following him uncertainly, her heels clicking timidly on the stone. She tripped over her words when she spoke. "But - well, that's the part I don't understand... wouldn't you fall into that category, Malfoy? Arrogant, self-entitled prick with old gold, and all that?"

He looked at her sharply, barely controlled anger flaring in his eyes. "I would never take advantage of a woman. _Never_. So no, we are not in the same _category_ , Granger."

She drew in a breath. "I didn't mean to imply that, Malfoy. I'm... sorry." How on earth she found herself apologizing to Draco Malfoy, alone, in the Astronomy Tower at 11 o'clock at night, she had no idea.

They turned in unison as Cormac groaned and began to stir behind them. Scratch that, not alone.

Malfoy's eyes flashed and he scowled as he began to move toward the indisposed Gryffindor seventh year.

Hermione touched his arm briefly. "Please, allow me." With that, she lifted her wand. " _Petrificus Totalus_." Cormac swiftly stopped moaning.

Malfoy sniggered. "Good of you." He turned back to her once again. She noted with detachment that his every movement was fluid, economical, almost elegant. He exercised total control over himself and his body.

He stepped just slightly closer to study her once again. His eyes were almost warm now. "You're not shaking anymore, and your color is returning. How are you feeling?"

His question was brisk and straightforward, yet she reddened at his attention. This really was so unlikely as to be impossible.

So she answered truthfully. "I'm calmer now. Honestly though, I'm still quite shaken. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I've never even heard of... assault, apart from your standard secondary school bullying. I've always felt so safe. Protected, I guess. At Hogwarts."

His eyes shuttered and he turned away swiftly. "Hogwarts isn't safe. Nowhere is - not anymore. You should be more cautious."

She watched him withdraw from her. In the deep quiet that filled the space between them, she wanted to press him about what he meant, but she chose not to. They had barely exchanged ten words between them before, none of them ever civil. Perhaps it was McLaggen or the moonlight or the open sky or the shared silence, but she felt strangely that she didn't want to disrupt this temporary truce they seemed to have called.

He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a jagged piece of chocolate he must have broken off of a larger bar. "Here. It helps. It really does."

She stared at the chocolate for a moment before reaching out to take it from him. As she did, their fingers brushed. Neither flinched from the contact. Malfoy turned back to the vast view and placed his hands loosely on the railing.

Something in his words or his actions reminded her of Lupin. They couldn't be more different - Malfoy was polished, hard and cold as marble. Lupin was warm and slightly rumpled, like worn tweed. Her heart softened at the unexpected similarity between the two starkly opposite men. She found herself wondering why Malfoy carried a bar of chocolate with him.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke. "You've had a rough year." He inclined his chin slightly in her direction.

After a silence so long, Hermione assumed he was not going to respond, he said as an afterthought, "Hence the chocolate. You really are the brightest witch in our year." Though dry, his voice was empty of all his usual malice, and she thought she saw the shadow of a smile ghost across his face.

Something in that smile emboldened her. It was as though the night sky held them hostage here, where they existed apart from their usual roles, their histories, and their inevitable outcomes. Here they could exist temporarily above the world and the ever-unfolding plans of its kings and conquerors.

Her blood pounding in her ears, she spoke one more word - so quietly, he could choose to ignore it. "Why?" Every word was a trespass on his character. He could shatter this strange peace in an instant.

He stared out at the Great Lake as he answered. "'Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight / And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way / Do not go gentle into that good night.'" The verse was delivered in resignation.

With great effort, she quietly steadied her small, shallow breaths. Her stomach was in knots. "You read Muggle poetry?"

He cast her a sidelong glance, arching an aristocratic brow. "I've discovered recently how equally pathetic we all are when our assumed immortality fails us. Muggle poets understand mortality better than most wizards."

Hermione frowned, unsettled by both his dark words and the fact that she could find nothing in them with which to disagree.

After a moment, he spoke again. His voice had become reflective and lost, and he spoke to himself as though he forgot she was standing beside him. "Some even seem to embrace it... that I can't understand."

"You can't understand those who recognize that life is fragile and choose to see every moment as a gift?" she followed quickly, her Gryffindor courage rising within her.

"No," he answered abruptly. "I can't. There's a difference between seeing every moment as a gift and toying with death like it's a game. It's not a game - death is the most serious and final thing on earth."

She nodded, acquiescing. "You're right. Death is not to be trifled with. But what does this have to do with your rough year? We've all noticed it."

He studied the Great Lake in the distance with a look of concentration and caution. Finally, he answered. "The poet is describing humanity. Some of us are so wild with ambition that we learn too late our grasping at power and immortality has failed us. It's naivety in its most ignorant form. We willfully refuse to see that what we think will grant us power can only destroy us. We'll do anything to resist their dues. I'm either a candidate for this or a casualty of it. Perhaps both."

He turned to face her again, his volume rising urgently, almost defensively. A defiance fired in his eyes and the set of his jaw. "And I'm only 16, Granger. I have my entire life ahead of me. I'm going to do everything within my power to hold on to it for as long as I can."

A shudder ran down her spine, and the fine hairs on her arm prickled. There was something else in his tone she couldn't place - something grim and resolute. He was not speaking hypothetically.

Her reply was timid. "I agree that a 16 year old shouldn't have to face destruction for their choices, whether foolish mistakes or no. And I appreciate the value you've placed on life. That's something you and I certainly share. I would urge you, though - to recognize the value in _all_ life just as you recognize the value in your own." His face registered surprise at her agreeable reply.

It dawned on her then that Harry might be right - Draco may have taken the Dark Mark. But it was more than that. Based on his words, it may not have been his choice if he had. Her eyes flashed down to his left arm. A protective measure, his only option, to avoid... death, apparently. The thought suddenly made her feel very old and tired.

She looked back up into his eyes and was alarmed to see the surprise had suddenly morphed into a bottomless fury. She shrank back. He snarled at her, the truce broken. "Look at my arm again, Granger, and maybe I'll revive McLaggen and give you two some alone time. You don't know a damn thing about me. Don't you dare presume to."

She was filled with trepidation and oddly, a sense of relief that he was now acting according to his character. The threat of Cormac was enough for her to surrender the balcony and give him his mean little victory. She was done here. "Welcome back, Malfoy. I was wondering where you'd gone off to. Good night." She quickly turned toward the staircase.

His hand snaked out to grab her arm and stop her. The gesture shocked her so profoundly she froze in her tracks, still facing away from him. Was Malfoy willingly touching her? She who he believed diseased, contaminated?

He closed his eyes briefly. "Wait." He said the word with force but no anger. She remained silent. "I shouldn't have said the thing about Cormac. That was rotten. I wouldn't do that." A moment's silence. "My anger was directed toward myself, not you. Believe me."

She considered his words, turning her face to search his gaze. It was a strange and unlikely confession from someone like him. Finally, she rolled her eyes and sighed with exasperation. "God help me, but I do believe you." She shook off his hand, which fell limply to his side.

As she moved back to join him at the railing, she shot him a sardonic look. "'That was rotten.' You have an unconventional morality, Malfoy. I would have called it predictable and uninspired, but tonight you've added a new layer. It's an interesting twist."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I may be an arrogant, self-entitled prick with old gold, but I'm still a Pureblood. And Purebloods are raised with certain manners. Some of them." He glanced at McLaggen with a sneer.

She snorted. "Manners, Malfoy? I assumed those didn't apply to Mudbloods." She was more comfortable with this line of conversation. They seemed to have wordlessly agreed to stick to more familiar terrain.

Yet it appeared Malfoy didn't in fact like familiar terrain, because his next words were like a bucket of ice water on her head in the December cold.

"Don't call yourself that." His voice was sharp, brooking no disagreement.

She whipped around on him incredulously, finally unable to contain her astonishment. "Malfoy, what could you possibly mean? You have used that word on me for years - you've used it this year! Why would you care if I say it? Why would you suddenly develop an honorable streak toward the likes of me? You have to know how ridiculous this all seems." Here she waved her hand between them. "You're not a gentleman. You're _Malfoy_. How have we even carried on this conversation for so long? I feel like I've stepped into _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_."

Her rant burned out, and she blew a strand of chocolate brown hair out of her eyes. She realized he had slowly closed the distance between them as she was speaking, moving with that calculated grace she'd noticed earlier. He was now standing alarmingly close, staring down at her with a strange look in his eyes. Smooth, alabaster skin shone brightly. His perfectly coiffed hair had become tousled slightly, yet it glowed like white gold. How did he seem to absorb the moonlight so completely? Her stomach coiled in a tight knot and a small shock of energy shot through her as she realized for the first time how attractive he was.

"Well?" she breathed, raising both her eyebrows and staring at him expectantly. His proximity rattled her deeply, but she wouldn't let him see that.

"Did you know you practically emit sparks when you're angry at me? Your skin gets all flushed, like you've got some sort of magical fire under your skin. I've often wondered if it hurts." She raised her hands to her hips and started to huff. Certainly some new jab at her blood status.

"Shh," he interrupted quietly. He placed a long, thin index finger on her lips. Her eyes widened in surprise. "It's a nice flush. It brings out the gold in your eyes."

"The likes of you, indeed," he continued softly. "The Mudblood Lioness, besting me at every turn except on a broomstick." He laughed under his breath, and she closed her eyes. Somehow when he said it this time, it made her feel powerful.

He dropped his finger and went on. "I told you, Lioness. I will do everything within my power to hold on to my life. And if that means maintaining all my old prejudices, then I will."

"Your old prejudices?" she asked in a hushed voice. There seemed a sort of spell around the two of them now, made more delicate by this confession. She didn't want to break it.

Impossibly, he raised his fingers to her face once more and brushed the outside curve of her ear. She jerked slightly at his touch. As he spoke, his fingertips grazed gently across her jawline and toward her chin, moving ever so slowly. Her stomach squirmed uncomfortably. "Yes - old. The truth is, you have caught me completely by surprise. The way I was raised - all the values and lessons about _blood_ \- I was totally unprepared for you." His fingers held her chin loosely. His thumb pressed lightly at the outside of her mouth. "You have already triumphed over everyone who would seek to oppress you. Including me."

She opened her mouth to respond, or to ask one of the dozens of questions now buzzing through her head, or to argue - she wasn't sure which. He gently pressed her jaw shut and tilted her face up toward his. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he gazed down at her.

"There is one thing you said that is incorrect, however," he said softly. "I _am_ actually a gentleman. And I would like to prove that by... redeeming McLaggen's actions toward you tonight." He stepped so close that her body was a few bare inches from his. Her chest brushed his imperceptibly and her breathing quickened.

"You don't need to prove anything, Malfoy," she said breathlessly, her eyes still locked on his. "I believe you."

He lifted his right hand to her waist and slid it inside her coat, cupping her hip with his long fingers. Immediately her body seemed to come to life. Very gently, he drew her flush against him. She didn't pull away. "Do you think skin remembers touch, Hermione?"

Her entire body hummed when he spoke her name. It slid over his lips like honey. And he was still holding her chin and her hip. Both points of contact seemed to burn with heat.

"Did you, um, cast a warming spell?" she asked self-consciously. Her heart was hammering so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

He laughed softly. "No, I didn't."

Then he lowered his face toward hers and hovered his lips near her ear. When he spoke next, his breath puffed warmly against her skin. "Say yes."

She knew what he was asking, and it was clear her body ached for what would happen next. She was coming to life under the damn hand he held loosely against her hip. His thumb had started to turn lazy circles in the hollow of her pelvis. Oh God, it was embarrassing how her legs were shaking. She was sure he could feel her trembling. Every point where his fingertips pressed into her was crawling with electricity.

But she was scared. His words made some sort of sense in her scrambled mind, but they were so unexpected. His words changed everything. If what he said was true, she had been the one to turn him from his bigotry. And if in some twisted way he actually cared for her, why maintain a charade of such cruelty? That wasn't how you treated someone you cared for.

His words came back to her. _He would do everything within his power to hold on to life for as long as he could._ Something in that sounded fierce and right. It didn't justify his actions, but it did clarify them.

And then Malfoy traced his thumbnail sharply against her underwear line and she lost herself to his touch. She wanted this. "Yes," she whispered in a strained voice.

He pressed his lips softly against the curve of her jaw. The hand that had been on her chin slid backwards into her curls and cradled her head as it fell to one side.

He moved his mouth toward her ear and gently sucked her earlobe between his lips. "He did this too, didn't he? I want to make sure I get it right. You deserve a better memory of this evening." His voice was gentle, sincere, and completely unnerving.

She murmured something under her breath.

"What was that?" he asked between feather-light kisses along the inner shell of of her ear.

"Stop talking about that arse."

"Okay."

And with that, he crushed her to him, rotated them both, and pressed her back against the railing. She gasped. His raw heat and strength weren't restraining her as Cormac's had done, but urging her toward a bold recklessness. She splayed her hands on Malfoy's chest and ran them up toward his collar, which she gripped tightly to hold his mouth to her neck.

He growled and her touch and began trailing heated kisses down her neck, nipping at her skin with his teeth and a tight, quick pinch between his lips after each one. She felt liquid heat pooling beneath her stomach. "Merlin," she swallowed thickly, panting slightly. "That. Feels. Good. God, so good."

At her low voice, Malfoy ran the hand that was in her hair down her body to join the other hand cupping her hip, savoring every curve. She quivered as his touch lighted every nerve on fire. "I like it when you tell me what you want, Hermione." He swirled his tongue in a quick circle against her clavicle.

She gasped and reflexively pressed her hips against his, grinding herself against him. He returned the force, gripping her hips firmly and pushing her back against the railing.

"Kiss me," she demanded, her breath short.

"I am," he returned, smirking into her skin as he skimmed his lips across the boatneck top of her dress and began kissing up toward her right ear.

It was Hermione's turn to growl and she slid her hands from his collar to his jaw and pulled his face up to her lips, where she captured his with her own. He immediately returned the kiss, sliding his hands backwards from her hips to wrap around her small waist and pin her to him. One hand splayed against her back to press her more snugly against his torso.

Their bodies and mouths fit together perfectly. They fought for control of the kiss, both moving their lips against the other's until Hermione finally relinquished, opening her mouth under his. Their tongues explored one another before Malfoy pulled back fractionally to kiss her lips, and then the corners, one at a time. He spoke in fragments as he sprinkled kisses clockwise around her mouth. "So brilliant… so strong… this life, just bursting out of you - you are the flame and the heat - everything I'm not-" He returned to her mouth, slowing down the kiss to a gentle, heart-breaking massage.

"I… I never knew," she whispered against his mouth, as she threaded her hands into his hair, guiding him to where she wanted him to kiss her. She whimpered again as he resumed kissing the base of her ear.

"You were never, ever to know. And then that steaming arse had to go and hurt you," he said softly. His hands slid up and down the small of her back, and then returned to her hips where his thumbs slowly traced mirrored circles. She was feeling light-headed. His hands were magic.

"Draco…" she murmured.

He froze in his ministrations. "Say it again," he said roughly, pulling back briefly.

She unwound her hands from his hair and traced her fingers down the side of his face and neck to rest against his chest. She stared up into his eyes, which were looking at her hungrily. "Draco," she said softly, her heart in her throat.

He crushed her to him once more and bent down to cover her mouth possessively. This kiss was unbelievably hotter than the first. He alternately suckled at her lips and skimmed his tongue across them until she thought she'd burst into flames. She needed to be closer, to feel his hands on all of her skin. She lifted a leg to wrap around his waist.

He immediately moved a hand to her leg, where the hem of her dress had ridden up. He palmed her butter-soft thigh and issued a deep hum of approval, his fingertips tracing upward as he ground his pelvis into hers. Each movement sent electric pulses straight to her core. She felt that pulsing coil in her stomach start to tighten rapidly and suddenly felt shy and nervous. This was going much too fast.

Without breaking the kiss, she slowly lowered her leg from his waist, placed her hands at his hips, and gently put a few inches of space between them. His lips melted into something soft and tender against hers and finally broke away. They were both breathing heavily.

He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the top of her head, holding her to him in a loose hug. She could feel his heart racing abnormally fast beneath his silk shirt. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. She nodded into his chest.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, where they allowed their hearts to slow to a normal rate, she released a small breath and pulled away to look at him. "That was..."

"Unconventional?" Draco supplied, grinning slightly.

"Impossible," she finished, grinning back. The word seemed to sober him. He dropped his arms from her waist and took her hands in his.

"It was impossible, Granger," he said seriously. "It _is_ impossible. I'm going to tell you what happens now. I'm going to leave, and you're going to revive Cormac, and then you're going to obliviate him and wait 10 minutes before coming down. We are not going to meet again. I am going to continue treating you as I have done so, and you will do the same."

She stared at him in shock. "Absolutely not, Draco! This... this changes everything. We both clearly feel something… intense. We are not neutral - or antagonistic - whatever we were, we aren't that toward one another anymore."

"It changes nothing," he said firmly. "There are much bigger things at play than you can possibly imagine. We are on the brink of a war, and we are not on the same side."

"But we can be!" she cried. "You don't have to stay on this path. This clearly isn't your choice - at least, not anymore. There are other options - immunity, feigned ignorance, espionage. You're only 16!"

He shook his head once. "No. As much as I… cherish my name on your lips, and this chemistry, and Merlin help me, the way your eyes flash when you're mad at me, you will not change my mind. You're right, we are only 16. That's why I won't risk my own life - or yours."

She was growing frustrated. His stubbornness matched her own. "Surely it isn't as dire as that. Death? Can a teenager really be that important in this war? You must be exaggerating the attention that's on you."

"You know that isn't true. Potter's only 16, and everyone's known he would be at the center of this war for years now. He always has some devious plan or another up his sleeve."

Her face drained of color. "Whatever it is that makes you so important - it doesn't have something to do with Harry, does it?"

Draco shook his head with impatience. "Granger, I can't answer your questions. This is exactly why we have to continue on. We're already not trusting each other."

Her hands turned in his and gripped them firmly. In a deadly serious voice she said, "I am not the one hiding something. I could grow to trust you if you were willing to do the same. Now tell me - is this about Harry? Is he why you won't risk us growing closer?"

"No!" he answered with vehemence. "This isn't about him, okay? This is about my own _insistence_ on doing _everything within my power_ to come out of this war alive. And that won't be pretty. I will be expected to do things that haunt me for the rest of my life, and if that keeps me alive another day, I'll do them without hesitation. I will not drag you into that."

His eyes softened. "Please agree to my terms, Granger. I don't want to wipe your memory of tonight."

Her eyes flashed. "You wouldn't dare."

This caused him to smirk smugly. "Worth remembering, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed her hair off her face. "Fine. Fine. Have it your way. Walk away and never look back. Live another day to enjoy your guilty conscious."

"I need you to say it."

"Fine! I won't try to meet you again! And I'll treat you the same as I always have. That should be easy."

He cringed at her anger, but remained firm. "Promise you won't tell anyone what happened tonight."

"I promise I won't tell anyone!"

"And... promise me you will understand when I treat you the same, and that you'll know - _know_ \- it doesn't reflect on how I feel about you… my respect, or my attraction, or..." She looked at him suddenly. His eyes were pleading with her.

She closed her eyes. Her heart tightened painfully in her chest. Despite her frustration, on some level, she understood the primal, driving desire to survive. This was so confusing. "I will understand. I do understand. That word… it has a different meaning now." She felt defeated. "Though I still think you're wrong. This could get you killed. Someday you'll be asked to do something that will go against your convictions. You _will_ hesitate, and they'll know."

"I won't. I plan to be a good boy, do as I'm told and stay in their good graces." He stepped away from her, and she immediately felt colder. He lingered there, staring at her, and finally picked up her hand again to brush his lips gently against her knuckles. He held her small hand in both of his, massaging it tenderly. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Can we see what could happen… after?" she blurted out. The young man who stood in front of her was a stranger. An intelligent, mature gentleman who memorized Muggle poetry - and to whom she was fiercely attracted. She hadn't had enough time to get to know him. It was as though this brief, unexpected rendezvous had been a microcosm of everything that could be.

He smiled sadly at her. "After all that's coming - I can guarantee you will not want to."

He backed toward the staircase, never breaking eye contact with her. Though firm in his decision, his face reflected traces of uncertainty.

When he stood beneath the lantern, he spoke once more to her. "The commitment I've made to preserving my own life - it doesn't just apply to me, Granger. There are a small number of people I've vowed to protect, whatever the cost. This is the only way I can ensure your safety."

She watched him, willing him to return to her side and pick up her hand once again. Surely this conversation couldn't be over yet. She had so many unanswered questions. When - how - why?

Malfoy glanced at McLaggen. "And remember, Granger - _finite_ and _obliviate_. 1-2." At that, he turned and was gone.

Hermione allowed her heart to break for exactly 60 seconds. Then she patched the pieces back together and narrowed her eyes at the empty staircase. She may have promised she wouldn't try to meet him, and that she would treat him the same, and that she wouldn't tell anyone, but this was far, far from over.

Fortifying herself for the chore ahead, she turned back toward the young man who was still lying prone and lifeless in the shadows near the tower wall. Her heart was heavy, and she was not in a mood to deal with Cormac McLaggen. With uncharacteristic flippancy, she lofted her wand and ended the prior spell.

" _Finite_."

Unfortunately, Cormac's enforced silence had not slowed his cognitive function while petrified. What he had witnessed from his uncomfortable position on the cold concrete had not only sobered him quickly but also filled him with fury. _How dare that whore tease him all night only to make him watch her get it on with the Slytherin wanker?_ His anger had quite some time to burn.

The moment she spoke the word that lifted his paralysis, he rolled to his right and sprang into a low crouch, catching Hermione by surprise. Still distracted by Malfoy's hasty departure, she was momentarily confused by his sudden movement. By the time she had caught on, he had already lifted his wand against her.

And when the premeditated spell was uttered, it was not from her lips.

Cormac had just enough time to favor her with a self-satisfied leer as he watched confusion, realization, anger, and finally, anguish flash across her face in the space of an instant.

" _Obliviate_."


End file.
